I’m taking Christmas off this year. I hope none of you mind. There will be no tree or twinkling lights decorating my house, no stockings hung on the chimney with care, and I have no hope that St. Nick will ever be there. I’ve already replaced 106.9 with an R&B station to avoid hearing the jingling of bells or the general merriment of a lame sleigh ride.
I’ve got enough bourbon on my bar that I can hibernate through December. Santa can’t give me what I want, and neither can Donald Trump. No amount of money or magic can mend what is broken. So you can just call me Scrooge, the infamous cracker of nuts. Bah humbug.